Finally he tore his eyes away from the painting and looked at her. He held her by her shoulders and said, “You are so silent. Say something.”

She needed to collect all her strength and willpower to speak after hearing what she had heard. “There was so much going on… All these years… And you never said anything to me, Mukundo Babu. Why?”

“Yes… I don’t know,” he looked lost, “May be because there was so much to say… Or may be because there was so much at stake… I just couldn’t imagine losing your affection, Piyali. And you are so much younger. I din’t know… And really… I do love your in many ways… Oh – I can talk so much. But aren’t you tired? You should sit…”

“No,” she interrupted resolutely, “I am not tired. Please do talk, Mukundo Babu. Tell me everything. I didn’t even know something as simple as this that you go for camping and trekking. Why did you never come with me?”

“You never invited me,” he teased her to lighten up the conversation a little, which had grown very overwhelming for both of them.

But she flushed with embarrassment on hearing that.

“I was joking,” he clarified.

“But it wasn’t a joke,” she smiled weakly and then grew thoughtful. She was searching for passion. And she couldn’t have imagined that Mukundo Babu – the quintessential professor of Philosophy, brooding over such things that she thought were beyond her, worrying about  her safety, treating her with care and gentleness all the time – that Mukundo Babu could harbor such passion for her. How deceptive appearances were!

“Piyali…” She came out of her thoughts on hearing him and looked at him with moist eyes. He had said that he understood every expression of hers. But she wasn’t sure that her face could even express everything she was feeling just then. Love and gratitude were most prominent, of course. But she was also embarrassed, and apologetic, and hopeful and a lot more that she didn’t even understand!

“Don’t ask me to say anything, Mukundo Babu. I understand all you say. But I don’t know how to articulate myself like you. Someday, may be, in my simple ways, I will be able to talk sensibly. But today, nothing I say could possibly make sense… ”

“You don’t need to say anything then. But could you answer one question for me… In yes or no. And I will be at peace either ways. So, you don’t…”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“Yes. Want me, Mukundo Babu. Take me, if you will,” she said and leaned on him. He put his arms around her, gently at first, but soon it became a bone-crushing hug.

“Let’s go back,” he said grinning happily, “I really have to grade those assignment. And I think those whom I grade now would be the happier lot.”

She blushed hard and chuckled; then asked, “Can I come back to this room?” She had noticed the portraits from her childhood. She was almost sure to find herself in cradle in one of them.

“Who else is this for?”

When they reached her home, she asked him to wait before starting on his work. He watched curiously, as she opened her cupboard and brought out a poster-sized paper – folded in four.

“I was trying to make a portrait of Ahwaan soon after… But after sketching, I had to stop and hide it away,” she explained as she unfolded it.

There was no mistaking it. She had ended up sketching his face. Mukundo gazed at it for a long while, and overcome by emotions and passions, he pulled her close and attacked her lips, giving her a long, hard, wet kiss. Tears came to her eyes by the time he pulled back.

“Take rest, now. Take a nap,” he told her, making no attempt to hide how he was choking at every word, “You are still weak, and today must have been so exhausting.”

Her exhaustion, mixed with elation, was making her feel light-headed. She could sleep it off, she decided, and nodded to him.

—

Piyali was inspired again. She had set up an easel and was sketching a face. A relaxed smile played on her lips as she drew. There was no conflict in her heart now. She knew exactly who she was drawing and how she would draw it. But she was interrupted by her mother.

“Come, Ma,” she covered the sketch. Mukundo had said that he would talk to Debangi, but Piyali didn’t know if he had already done so. If he hadn’t, being caught drawing Mukundo’s portrait would be an awkward situation for her. There was a reason that he had to hide all her paintings in his forbidden chamber.

“Are you working?”

“No Ma. My job doesn’t start until next month. I was just practicing.”

Debangi sat down on her bed. “What has Mukundo told you?” she asked. The frown on her face didn’t bode well.

“Meaning?” Piyali asked cautiously.

“About… marrying you?” Debangi wasn’t quite comfortable either.

Piyali flushed and stayed silent.

“Pihu… My child. You know that I want nothing better than your happiness. If you could indeed be married again and live happily – nothing like it. But… This won’t do…”

“Why… not, Ma?”

“You are not a child, Pihu. You have been married once. And… it’s nothing to me… I am your mother…. But… you have a handicap. And again… you are my child. You are the best in the world for me… But I have to think about Mukundo, too, don’t I? He has rejected much better girls, Pihu. His family has done so much for us after your Baba’s death. When I go up there, my child, what will I tell his mother? That after he rejected so many of them, I saddled him with him with you after all this mess…”

“But Ma,” tears came to her eyes, “He wants it… doesn’t he?”

“If he wanted it, Pihu, wouldn’t he have spoken earlier? Would he have let you get married? Even pushed for the match? What has happened is that he feels guilty and he is trying to amend for it. But that just isn’t right on my or your part. At the end of the day, it is not his fault.”

“But Ma…” she was agitated and lost. She couldn’t form her arguments. She didn’t have his eloquence. What had he said? About loving her in more ways than one. But.. how was she to explain it to her mother? Under the effect of her mother’s words, she herself grew uncertain. Probably she was right. Didn’t he keep apologizing for not doing the right thing? For promoting the match without even meeting Ahwaan? For failing her? Damn it! She had been a fool.

“Don’t get me wrong, my child. But I don’t want you to repeat a mistake. And anyway, there is time. It will take time to get divorce….”

She nodded absent-mindedly, too busy with her own thoughts. After her mother left, she went to the dresser and took a good look at herself in the mirror. How had she not paid attention to this earlier? How horrible did she look! Sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, darkened skin and then… right there… that limping arm… Ugly, damaged and handicapped – outside and inside. What kind of wife would she make him? She could visualize him as if she was right there. Tall, broad shouldered, criminally fair, shapely jaws, that charming smile, that brooding, thoughtful and intellectual look… And it didn’t just end at that look. That look perfectly reflected how wise, mature and generous he was at heart…. What kind of wife would she indeed make him?

—

To be continued